Going Rogue
by WillSherJohnKhan
Summary: Sherlock is prepared to do anything to avenge the death of his friends.
1. How Did It Come To This?

LONDON – 6 MONTHS AGO

Vampires were the stuff of nightmares, fearsome creatures, with an unquenchable thirst for the blood they drained from their victims using their pin-point sharp fangs. But no matter how scary they appeared in books and up on the big screen they were nothing more than fiction.

And it was this ignorance that they used to their advantage as they made their plans against an uncomprehending, oblivious population.

They arrived in the dead of night, striding with determined purpose through the streets of London like they owned the place. Their invasion took the great city by surprise. Caught off-guard and totally unprepared, it fell without a fight.

LONDON – 6 WEEKS AGO

As far as Sherlock Holmes had been concerned the arrival of the vampires was of little matter or interest. As the world's only Consulting Detective his focus was on tracking down the criminal elements within the human population. So as long as they kept out of his way and caused him no unnecessary trouble he was prepared to give them a wide birth.

That changed with the brutal killing of John and Mary Watson. Their untimely deaths made it personal.

Sherlock vowed to direct all his energies into destroying those who had so savagely murdered his friends. He would not rest until he had wiped out every single vampire in London.

With Mycroft's help they set up a secret organisation. They learned all they could about their adversaries, especially what was needed to end them and their reign of terror on the city.

Sherlock Holmes went from Consulting Detective to Vampire Hunter.

LONDON – 6 DAYS AGO

And then...

When Sherlock came to, the realisation that he was still alive after such a vicious attack was both disconcerting and confronting.

His determination to rid London of the plague of bloodsuckers remained resolute. However, becoming one of them was not how he'd envisioned doing it...


	2. A New Recuit

Molly Hooper had worked and studied hard to obtain her qualifications to become a pathologist. That work ethic had continued once she started working, and had ultimately led her to becoming the youngest Specialist Registrar at London's famed St. Barts Hospital.

It was a position she took great pride in, regarding it as a privilege assisting the police and the families of the deceased in ascertaining the cause of their untimely, or unexpected demise. She regarded it as her duty to give answers that would ease the grief, giving the families some comfort that would help them find closure.

ST BARTS, LONDON – 6 WEEKS EARLIER

Being a pathologist was her dream job, and she could never imagine ever wanting to do anything else.

That was until the vast majority of bodies that ended up on the slab showed signs of identical fatal injuries that would normally suggest the work of a serial killer.

But there was nothing normal about these particular deaths. Each exhibited the same unmistakably unique feature. All the victims had been completely drained of their blood. The entry wound was clearly marked by two puncture marks, usually at the jugular, made by pin-point, razor-sharp fangs.

Desperate to understand why vampires were intent on killing so many innocent people, and wishing to find a way of bringing these senseless killings to an end, Molly resigned her position at St. Barts and joined The Slayers Network, to become a Vampire Hunter.

THE SLAYERS NETWORK HQ, LONDON – 6 DAYS EARLIER

Molly had been summoned by The Slayer Network's leader, who was referred to only as M., to be given her first assignment.

When she entered M's chambers all was in darkness, save for a handful of lit candles to guide the way.

As Molly approached the large ornate desk at the far end of the room, she could only just make out M's silhouette, as he always preferred to remain in shadow.

"I have a very particular assignment for you, Molly Hooper. One that I am certain you will be fully invested in."

"Yes sir," Molly responded, eager to learn what exactly it was he had in mind for her.

"It has been brought to my attention," M continued. "That you are infatuated with one Sherlock Holmes."

Molly was thankful for the darkness as she felt her cheeks flush what she was certain was a very bright shade of red.

Sherlock Holmes was the reason she had worked so hard to become a pathologist, and why she had ensured that she was good enough to be employed at St. Barts Hospital. She hoped to one day get the opportunity to assist him in some small way.

He was the world's only Consulting Detective, the one man Scotland Yard relied upon to help them solve the tricky, seemingly unsolvable cases...

Her musings were rudely interrupted with the most devastating news.

"It may interest you to learn that he has gone missing, which in of itself is not that unusual. But it has been reported by a reliable source that a vampire has been seen taking up residence in the detectives flat. This has led to the inescapable conclusion that he has become one of their latest victims.

The news left Molly in shock, so much so that she failed to note not only the complete lack of regret at this terrible development, but also the barest hint of glee as the pronouncement was made. But all she could focus on was that the famed detective was gone.

"I need you to go to 221B Baker Street, and deal with this particular creature with extreme prejudice. Go there, kill it, and report back. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Molly replied soberly. "You can count on me."

221B BAKER STREET

Things had not gone quite to plan. When she had arrived, it was to find the apparently premises deserted.

In the end Molly had little option but to stakeout the address from within, and wait to see if the vampire would return.

221B BAKER STREET – LATE EVENING – PRESENT

Molly's newly acquired slayers instincts warned her of another's presence. Knowing she didn't have a lot of time she quickly moved into position by the doorway to the flat.

She could only pray that the vampire wouldn't be expecting visitors, and would mistake her scent for one of the detective's former clients.

Although her orders were to kill the vampire immediately, Molly still wanted to understand why they were so intent on killing people. They might be cold hearted killers, but despite all her training she still wasn't.

And so as soon as the vampire passed through the doorway Molly clobbered him hard on the back of the head with her crossbow, knocking him unconscious.


	3. One Surprise After Another

221B BAKER ST - PRESENT

Sherlock's deductive-solving brain went into overdrive the moment he regained consciousness, frantically noting and cataloguing the available data concerning his present situation.  
\- Thumping headache, the result of an unexpected blow to the back of the head.  
\- Seated but unable to move, due to restrictive ties that bound his hands and feet to a wooden chair.  
\- Uncomfortably bright light directed right into his eyes, thankfully artificial, the sun's ultra violet rays would have effectively turned his undead self to ash.

The conclusion was inescapable, and further reinforced by the petite woman standing before him, a crossbow aimed directly at his heart. He'd been outwitted by a novice vampire hunter, an inexperienced one too, if the barest hint of a tremor in her grip was any judge.

She was small, no more than 5' 3". It wouldn't take much to overpower her, either physically or through the use of mind control. But Sherlock chose to do neither.

To be honest he was intrigued by her, charmed even. She'd had every opportunity to kill him, but hadn't.

"What are you waiting for?" his rich baritone voice rumbled curiously. "I am at your mercy."

Molly couldn't believe her eyes. Sitting before her was the man she'd been sent to avenge. The man who was clearly not missing, or even dead, in the usual sense at least. But he had been forever changed. The unusual pallor to his skin that was cool to the touch, and the fangs that protruded to rest against luscious lips confirmed it.

He was now a vampire.

Not only that, he was the vampire she'd been sent to kill.

She stared at the being before her in shock, and growing confusion. Why would M, the former detectives own brother, fabricate such an elaborate lie. Ordering her to hunt down the vampire believed to have killed his brother... "You're... You're Sherlock Holmes," she said in a choked rasp, still having trouble believing what she was seeing.

"That I am," Sherlock responded smugly as he observed her expression turn from confusion to realisation.

For he no longer sat tied to the chair, but stood before her, with her crossbow in his hand.

The young woman's tremulously whispered "Are you going to kill me?" was enough to wipe the self-satisfied smirk from his cupids-bow lips. For nothing could be further from his intention.

For at that moment Sherlock found himself drowning as he gazed down into her big brown, expressive eyes. Feelings he had never acknowledged when human now threatened to overwhelm him, the intensity of his feelings causing his fangs to descend fully.

"What's your name?" he asked gruffly.

"Molly Hooper," Molly responded, her eyes widening at the sight of his fangs now on full display.

Taking her face in his large, capable hands, Sherlock tried to reassure her. "There is no need to fear me Molly Hooper, I mean you no harm."

"But your fangs..."

"Descend for feeding," he readily acknowledged.

Something about Molly Hooper called to him, releasing the most primitive urges to possess her mind, body and soul. As a vampire, these were extremely dangerous thoughts to be entertaining.

But her pull was irresistible. Resting his forehead against hers he looked her directly in the eye. "But it is also a sign of arousal," he admitted.


	4. Pause For Thought

221B BAKER STREET

Molly would have willingly submitted to all the temptations that Sherlock's undeniably potent and hypnotic presence offered. God knows it would have been so easy, even had she not already been armoured by his reputation and skill as a Consulting Detective. Now she found herself overwhelmed by his sinfully divine good looks; from his dark brown curly hair, penetrating aqua coloured eyes, now accentuated with flecks of red, prominent cheekbones, cupids bow lips, impeccable dress sense with a penchant for incredibly tight shirts and trousers, and blatant sex appeal, heavily enhanced by the danger he posed now that he'd unwittingly joined the ranks of the undead.

But as much as she wanted to run her fingers through his luscious curls, stroke those prominent cheekbones, kiss those pouty lips and tear those expensive clothes to pieces in order to run her hands over his delectable body, she couldn't. The reminder of why she had been sent there enough to snap her out of the spell he was casting over her. With sheer determination she took a step back. She kept her movements slow and steady so as not to arouse any further predatory instincts.

Sherlock couldn't make up his mind if he was disappointed or relieved when she stepped back. He knew that he wasn't acting in the cool logical manner that he was accustomed. Clearly the vampiric aspects of his personality were beginning to take hold. And that was going to prove problematic. From what he had learned, seen, and was now experiencing, vampires relied, and revelled in their baser instincts and primal animalistic urges. Where once his mind and body were bastions for cold hard logic, now it was a chaotic cauldron of out of control rampant physical demands and sexual needs and desires, and he was having the devil of a time reining in all these irrational, complicating emotions.

He feels on edge, his blood is on fire as it races to strategic parts of his anatomy. His nostrils are filled with the sweet smell of her blood, and it's driving him insane as he finds himself craving her in ways that have never affected him before.

So when Molly stepped back, though a little cast down it nonetheless gave him time to regroup, and regain some of the control that he had always prided himself on. In doing so he soon ascertained by her expression that being seduced by a vampire was the least of her worries. Something was seriously wrong concerning her assignment.

But the battle between logic and loins remained close at hand. Sherlock's steadfast gaze remained fixed on the inexperienced hunter, drowning in the depths of her expressive brown eyes. Feelings he'd never thought he was capable of continuing to threaten and overwhelm him. The newly created vampire finding himself as much in her thrall as she was in his. But he knew had to set aside his wants and needs and focus instead on the answers he needed from her. For it was becoming clear that her concern was not for herself, but for him. "What's wrong?" his inner turmoil causing his question to sound more of a demand.

"Why would your own brother send me here to kill you?" came back her equally forthright response.

Why indeed. Mycroft was cold and unfeeling, a true 'Ice Man'. But would he really go so far as to have his own brother killed outright without giving said brother the opportunity to avail him of some valuable insights...

Something didn't feel right. Sherlock knew it and so did Molly.

In an attempt to solve this unexpected and perplexing riddle, more data was needed.

"You're certain it was my brother who sent you?"

"I was given my orders by the Slayer's Network Leader himself."

Sherlock frowned. He could sense Molly was telling the truth or at least the truth as she knew it.

"Describe him." Sherlock demanded.

His request caused a frown to appear on Molly's brow. "I can't."

"Ridiculous!" Sherlock snorted derisively. "Why can't you?"

"I couldn't see him."

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. Well that certainly wasn't like Mycroft at all. He enjoyed looking his subordinates in the eye so that they were in no doubt as to who was in control of the whole operation.

"Why couldn't you see him?"

"The room was in darkness, with only a handful of lit candles to light the way from the door to his desk," Molly explained.

"Did you get any sense of remorse that he had to make this decision?"

"Only in a mocking way," Molly admitted, as she replayed the interview in her head. "Mainly directed at me because I'd always wanted to work with you..." she paused, fearing she had inadvertently revealed too much.

Sherlock's smug grin confirmed it. But to her immense relief he immediately carried on with his questioning.

"What time of day did you see him?" A growing suspicion was forming in his mind.

"It was after midnight..." No sooner were the words out of her mouth than realisation struck. "That wasn't your brother."

"No," Sherlock confirmed.

"I am such an idiot," Molly groaned. What type of hunter was she if she couldn't pick up the obvious signs that she was in the presence of one of the undead.

"It's not your fault," Sherlock reassured her. "Moriarty is one extremely cunning vampire."

Molly gasped, the name was known to her, and all that lived in London. Moriarty, his very name filled everyone with dread, the infamous leader of the invading vampires.

"If he's taken your brother's place, then where is he?"

"That is what we need to find out."

"You don't think he's dead?" Molly asked hesitantly.

The possibility had occurred to him, but he immediately dismissed it. "No," he responded with a shake of his head. "He's more valuable alive."

"So what do we do?" Molly asked.

Somewhere deep within the region where his heart he always claimed he didn't possess actually lay, Sherlock felt a barely perceptible spark that slowly moved its way through his veins, leaving a pleasant warm glow in its wake. Before he could begin analysing why her willingness to help him had affected him in such a way his intensified senses picked up the sound of the front door opening. Upon entering the individual made their way up the stairs just as silently. Long before they reached the door to his flat Sherlock already knew their identity, and what they had brought with them.

"Did anyone see you?"

"No Sheeza. I was careful, as I always am."

Sherlock turned to face his new visitor. Billy Wiggins was one of the trusted members of his Homeless Network, or what was left of them. Living on the streets as they did, many had fallen prey to vampire attacks. The few that remained had either fled the city, or like Billy, stayed on to assist Sherlock in any small way that they could.

Since Sherlock had been turned Billy went around searching for nourishment for the former detective in the form of recent road kill, or...

"Is that a blood bag?" Molly asked, instantly recognising what Billy held in his hand.

Billy was taken aback that Sheeza had company, very particular company if the cross-bow in Sherlock's hand was anything to go by.

"It's all right Billy," Sherlock assured him. "Molly isn't going to tell anyone." He then indicated the bags. "Put that in the fridge for me would you."

Billy went off as instructed making his way over to the kitchen. "Billy doesn't steal them from the hospital per se," Sherlock explained. "He keeps a lookout, and when he sees hospital staff disposing of the expired blood, he grabs what he can."

"So that's how you've been surviving, drinking expired blood?"

"And the occasional road kill," Sherlock added.

Molly grimaced. "Neither of which I'd assume offers you much in the way of nourishment."

"True," Sherlock admitted. "Billy and the others in the Homeless Network have offered to be live donors."

"But..."

"I may have dabbled with drugs in the past, but the idea of being overdosed intravenously on an unknown cocktail of illegal narcotics doesn't have the appeal it might once have had."

"So why don't you take blood from a more suitable live donor?"

Molly question took him by surprise. Surely she had to know she was playing with fire. Her question, innocent or not had instantly reignited the craving he felt for her blood.

But she had asked, so he responded with his usual blunt forthright honesty. "Because the only living person's blood I wish to savour is yours, Molly Hooper."

Molly did indeed recognise how dangerous such a question was. But in a very short time she had come to instinctively trust Sherlock Holmes. Recently turned as he was, he was clearly still struggling to cope with all the physical and emotional changes that were raging through him. And yet, even though he had shown very effectively how he could have her under his control, he had not followed through on it, even though part of her wished that he had, that was a discussion for another time. Right now they had to work out where his brother was being kept.

And it was apparent Sherlock was of the same mind. "Billy, I need you to do something for me."

Billy returned to the sitting room and waited patiently for instructions.

"Get one or two others from the network, and as unobtrusively as you can keep a watch on Moriarty's movements."

Billy nodded, just as he headed out the door, Sherlock gave him one more important instruction. "And Billy, make certain, absolute certain that he is not aware of your presence. Your very lives will depend on it."


	5. In the Bowels of Hell

UNDISCLOSED LOCATION – SOMEWHERE IN LONDON

The air was thick with it.

Fear.

Pitiful whimpers and cries of those resigned to the terrible fate that awaited them echoed off the rough walls.

Anxiety levels of those trapped within continually heightened by the putrid stench of rotting corpses that wafted through the stale air of the maze of tunnels where they were incarcerated.

Only one inmate appeared indifferent and unaffected by the circumstances he found himself in. He refused to give in to a show of such unrestrained emotion. Such weakness of mind was not in his nature.

No matter how appalling and intolerable his situation, he would not give his captors the satisfaction of reducing him down to the level of his fellow prisoners.

At any rate, he knew that he was far more valuable to their leader alive. But he was also aware that his position remained tenuous.

Moriarty was unstable, paranoia emanated from him. One minute he was cool as a cucumber, while the next would find him in the throes of an uncontrollable rage. That side of his personality was becoming more prevalent upon learning that the attempt on Sherlock had not only failed, but backfired.

The cavernous dungeon suddenly went silent, for the Vampire's unhinged leader had arrived.

Those in the other cells doing all they could to make themselves invisible.

But they needn't have worried. Moriarty wasn't in the least bit interested in them, sweeping past them without a second glance.

Mycroft Holmes mentally squared his shoulders in preparation for whatever was to come.

Moriarty's black eyes twinkled in perverse delight, a cruel smirk upon his lips, while his whole body positively quivered with unconcealed excitement.

Mycroft knew Moriarty wanted him to ask why he was there. But Mycroft had no intention of playing the vampire's little games. He stood erect, expressionless, refusing to say a word.

But rather than annoying the vampire, his actions seemed to please Moriarty no end. In the irritatingly sing-song voice he used when he was pleased with himself, he announced. "Your little brother may have escaped death once, but he won't the second time."

Something in Moriarty's tone had Mycroft on edge, but he made sure that he sounded bored as he inquired. "Really? How so?"

"I've instructed one of your adorable little hunters, to take out the vampire who I've advised killed your brother. She is quite the fan of your brother, and has a vested interest in seeing the vampire now residing in 221B Baker Street dead. And I'm certain Sherlock would never consider that his own big brother would be so cold blooded as to order his death."

Mycroft's rigidly proud stature slumped in obvious defeat.

Moriarty saw it, and grinned in maniacal triumph. Abruptly he turned around and sauntered back through the tunnels whistling a happy tune.

No sooner was he gone then Mycroft's air of defeat evaporated, and a tight smile appeared briefly upon his lips.

In that short exchange Moriarty had slipped up not once, but twice. He didn't know Sherlock as well as he thought he did, and he'd revealed a little secret about himself that Mycroft was certain his followers had no knowledge of.


End file.
